


maybe the world is ours

by carissima



Series: wish universe [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Heartbreak, M/M, POV Alternating, Wish Fulfillment, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: He wants to say more, wants to ask Nicklas Backstrom what name he prefers to go by, whether he’s coming to the NHL this year, if he’s pleased to be playing with Alex.His words are limited though and Nicklas is moving to shake more hands, away from Alex and the questions he can’t ask. He’s got time though. He’ll find the words and the time to ask them.





	maybe the world is ours

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to caris for helping me choose exactly what this was going to be, and to lor and tc for the super quick betas!
> 
> wish magic exists in this universe, where at key moments in a person's life, they're granted a wish; for example when they're born, their parents choose a wish for them, or when they become an adult by culture or society's rules, or when they sign their first NHL contract. however, each wish has an unwanted, unpredictable side effect. 
> 
> wishers cannot:  
> wish for more wishes  
> wish harm unto others  
> wish for a Cup  
> wish for any awards
> 
> because the effects would be too catastrophic. and wishes are always kept secret. no one tells anyone what they wished for.

“Welcome,” is the first thing Alex ever says to him. His grin is wide, his English is improving and he feels excited when he shakes Nicklas Backstrom’s hand. The chubby teenager smiles back at him and Alex straightens his shoulders a little and lets their hands fall. He wants to say more, wants to ask Nicklas Backstrom what name he prefers to go by, whether he’s coming to the NHL this year, if he’s pleased to be playing with Alex.

His words are limited though and Nicklas is moving to shake more hands, away from Alex and the questions he can’t ask. He’s got time though. He’ll find the words and the time to ask them.

He wonders if Nicklas Backstrom knows what he’s going to wish for when he signs his contract. Has he decided or is he still unsure?

Alex was certain. He knew what he wanted, what he still wants. He can’t wish for the Cup of course, for that only ends badly for the wisher. So he’d wished for glory instead, and hopes that there’s no nasty side effects that will stop him from lifting that cup one day soon.

That’s the one thing he can’t ask Nicklas Backstrom though, no matter how good his English gets. Wishes are confidential; no one talks about their wishes.

He wants to ask Nicklas Backstrom anyway.

*

Nicklas Backstrom decides to spend another year in Sweden and Alex has another bad year in Washington. They miss the playoffs and Alex isn’t lonely in Washington, at least he doesn’t think that’s what this feeling is. Wishes can deviate from the expectation of the wisher, but when his parents first held him as a baby, they wished for him to always have a home so it’s not possible that what he’s feeling is loneliness.

It feels like it though.

Perhaps he’s meant to go home, maybe play in the KHL. Surely he wouldn’t be lonely there, back home. Back in Russia.

When he tries to imagine it though, the picture feels hollow. He’s meant to be here, in the NHL, in Washington, he knows it. He just has to wait for the all the pieces of the puzzle to settle into place but he’s never been very good at being patient. He wants everything right now. Alex hates tedium.

He’ll wait, though. Wishes, after all, always come true.

*

Nicklas Backstrom comes to Washington at the start of the season and Alex watches him play. He’s got beautiful hands and he sees the game faster than Alex can, but he struggles with the smaller rink.

“Will get used to,” Alex says to him after a bad game. He’s played in so many bad games here now. They all hurt but he’s getting better at putting it behind him, not thinking about all the mistakes they make.

Nicklas Backstrom - Backy - looks at him blankly and Alex curses his English. “Size,” he says and gestures to the rink. “Is small but you will get used to,” he says carefully.

Backy nods, a tiny frown marring his face. He’s a little less chubby this year, Alex thinks he’s working on becoming stronger and spending more time in the gym. He approves.

“You and me will play soon,” Alex tells him, confident and sure. He presses his hand to Backy’s shoulder. “You good enough to play with me.”

“Yeah,” Backy says with a determined nod. “You’re good enough to play with me.”

Alex blinks and then lets out a roar of laughter. Some of their teammates look over, bemused, but Alex pays them no attention. His entire focus is on Backy, who’s staring back at him with a tiny hint of a smile on his lips. Alex sees it and he feels something settle inside of him. “Lunch, after?” he asks.

“Sure,” Backy says in that sharp, succinct way he has of speaking English.

Alex beams.

*

Alex scores his first goal from Backy’s assist in November and he slams into him, screaming and whooping louder than he usually does. Backy grins and taps their helmets together before he pushes Alex gently towards their waiting teammates.

“First,” he says to Backy when they’re back on the bench. “Many more.”

Backy nods seriously and then turns his attention back to the ice, effectively blocking Alex out completely.

Alex grins, his heart still pounding in excitement, with adrenaline, and wipes the sweat off his face.

*

When Alex misses home, he drags himself over to Sasha’s house, or whines and pleads until Sasha or Serehya come to him. When Backy feels homesick, he goes to the Nylander house.

Backy spends a lot of time at Alex’s house too, eating all his food and bitching about Alex’s, well, Alex’s everything.

Alex loves it.

Backy fills the space in his home, lounging on one of the sofas or standing in the kitchen, hip resting against a counter while Alex pours them a beer each or fixes them some food. Alex isn’t sure whether Backy feels as lonely as Alex does or whether he truly enjoys being in Alex’s company, but things that belong to Backy start to scatter themselves around the house; an old shirt, a phone charger, a Brynäs scarf. Alex feels a little less lonely when he finds them, long after Backy’s left, a little piece of him taking up space in Alex’s home.

*

Backy moves up to his line in December and Alex swears there’s magic in the ice. Backy watches the game and absorbs it quicker than any other center Alex has played with. It doesn’t take them long to find their chemistry and the points start coming thick and fast. He’s on course to be a contender for the Art Ross and the Richard Rocket and all the glory he’d wished for, all thanks to Backy.

There’s no doubt that he’s a part of Alex’s puzzle, he just needs to figure out how he fits into Alex’s life and how Alex fits into his.

It’s mid-February, it’s cold and Backy’s walking into his home like he belongs there, clapping his hands together and shrugging off his huge winter coat that’s at least two sizes too big when Alex pushes him against the wall in his hallway and kisses him.

Backy’s nose is cold, his hands are engulfed in thick gloves and his hair is ridiculous under his hat. Alex kisses him like he’s desperate because that’s how he feels; desperate to touch, desperate to feel, desperate to have.

There’s nothing gentle about it when Backy kisses him back so Alex doesn’t feel bad when he presses in closer, heat surging through his body as Backy’s head tips back just a little and Alex supposes it’s a surrender of sorts.

Backy’s gloves hit the floor a second before his hands are on Alex, one buried in his unruly hair, the other spread wide across Alex’s back, his arm a steel band around Alex. Not that Alex needs it because he’s not going anywhere. He knocks Backy’s hat to the floor so he can run his fingers through Backy’s stupid hair and it’s just as breathtaking as he’d thought it would be.

Until Backy scratches his fingernails along Alex’s scalp and he lets out a loud, shuddering moan. He swears in Russian and takes Backy’s mouth again, hot and wet and rough.

He lifts his head when Backy groans, taking in the flush on Backy’s cheeks, the brightness in his eyes and the need written all over him as he looks back.

He swears again and moves in, his thigh pressed between Backy’s, his cock hard and straining against his sweats. He starts to move, grinding down, his hands on Backy’s ass, which feels just as incredible as he’d known it would. He rubs off on Backy’s thick thigh, panting hard as he presses kisses to Backy’s throat, his jawline, his mouth.

“Yeah,” Backy groans, his arm like a vice around Alex. He’s strong and solid, taking Alex’s weight as his movements become more and more erratic. “Yeah baby, okay.”

Alex shudders as he comes, slumping into Backy’s arms.

Backy holds steady.

Alex winces at the stickiness in his boxers but he slides to the floor, tugging Backy’s sweats down as he goes. He’s hard in his shorts and Alex’s mouth waters, his hands gripping Backy’s hips when he leans in and brushes his mouth over Backy’s cock, thick and warm and waiting so patiently.

Alex hates patience.

He yanks Backy’s shorts down and blinks.

“You gonna do something?” Backy asks, voice rough and low.

Alex swallows hard and takes Backy’s dick in his hand. “Yeah,” he answers and leans in to lick Backy from base to tip, pleased when Backy’s hand grips his hair hard and he lets out an appreciative groan.

It doesn’t take long to get Backy off, filling Alex’s mouth and sliding down to join him on the floor.

“Bed,” Alex decides, clearly steadier on his feet than Backy.

“Food,” Backy counters, still slumped on the floor.

Alex tilts his head and thinks. He disappears into the kitchen, piles a lot of leftovers on two plates and heads back out into the hallway, past Backy and up to his bedroom.

“Asshole,” Backy mutters as he stomps in behind him, sweats low on his hips and his shirt in his hands.

“Your English improving,” Alex says approvingly and hands Backy a plate when he joins him on the bed.

“Yours isn’t,” Backy shoots back. He presses his thigh against Alex’s and they bump elbows as they eat, but neither of them moves away.

*

Alex wakes up slowly, yawning as he turns over to find Backy lying next to him, mouth open as he snores loudly.

Alex grins and briefly considers waking him up with a kiss or a handie, but then he remembers how awful Backy is in the morning before he’s consumed coffee and changes his mind. He climbs out of bed, unashamedly naked, and strolls out of his bedroom to get Backy his morning fix.

Then he’ll see about sex.

*

They make the playoffs and Alex celebrates by blowing Backy in the toilet of the club they’re celebrating in. He’s drunk and happy and everything feels fucking glorious right now, on his knees with Backy’s hands tangled in his hair, making deliciously breathy moans and right on the edge of desperation.

It’s addictive and heady and Alex feels like he’s finally found his place in Washington with Backy in his bed and on the ice. Making the playoffs feels like a natural progression, like this is exactly where they’re meant to be.

Backy comes down his throat and pulls him up for a kiss, filthily licking into his mouth.

“I can wait,” Alex says, breathing hard and sounding hoarse like he’s just had Backy’s dick in his mouth.

Backy grins at him. They’ve been messing around for a few months now and they’ve learned what the other likes. He knows Backy likes being manhandled and has a sensitive spot just at the base of his neck, below his left ear. And Backy knows Alex likes to wait, likes to be edged into a frenzy and has a thing for coming on Backy’s body.

“How long can you wait?” Backy asks in near perfect English, the asshole. “Tonight? Tomorrow? When the playoffs end?”

“When we win Cup,” Alex says confidently. He wished for glory. He’s got two trophies already this season and he’s confident that they’re good enough to win this year. He’s got Backy with him, how could they lose?

Backy’s grin widens. “You’re stupid,” he says flatly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Honest,” Alex counters with a playful frown.

Backy’s eyes darken and he steps back into Alex’s space, his hand grazing over Alex’s hard dick and pressing down until he drags a groan out of Alex. “When we win the Cup,” he says, making it sound like a promise.

Alex, overconfident and exactly as stupid as Backy says he is, nods.

*

They lose to the Flyers in the first round. Alex, who had started the playoffs so excited, so fucking sure they were going to go all the way to the finals, can’t remember ever feeling so crushed. The team heads home defeated and Alex mopes around in his house for an entire day, slowly getting drunk off good vodka and crappy American beer.

He thinks about texting Backy and working off his frustration with the entire season by getting down and dirty with some good, sweaty, hard sex but something stops him. He wants to feel Backy’s strong body covering his, wants to lose himself in Backy’s kisses, wants to spend an entire week having sex in every room of the house until he can’t think about hockey anymore.

But Backy doesn’t call and Alex doesn’t text.

*

He goes to Worlds in Quebec and the disappointment of their poor playoffs falls off him when he’s surrounded by old friends and his native tongue.

“We’re playing Backy next,” Sasha says to him after their win over Belarus.

Alex ignores him. He knows the schedule.

“You two alright?” Sasha prods because he’s a gossipy nosy old witch and Alex needs to find other friends.

“We’re fine,” Alex says shortly. He hasn’t heard from Backy since they cleaned out their lockers and barely managed a conversation long enough to wish each other a good summer and good luck at Worlds.

It’s fine.

Sasha hums, the sound grating on Alex’s nerves.

“I’m going to find Serezha,” Alex says and works really hard on not slamming his way out of their hotel room.

*

They beat Sweden 3-2. Backy doesn’t acknowledge him the entire game and Alex gets in a little scrap with Fernholm, frustrated and wildly wondering if Backy’s looking at him now.

He doesn’t see Backy for the rest of the tournament, but they beat Canada in the finals and Alex feels vindicated, somehow.

He feels vindicated as he finally flies home to Moscow and he’s welcomed like a hero. He feels vindicated until he’s in a club, surrounded by his friends and beautiful girls, free drinks flowing and he realizes as he stumbles to the toilets, drunk and unsteady on his feet, that he’s fucking lonely.

Alex is besieged by people who want to be close to him, who want to touch him and probably go home with him.

“Fucking glory,” he mutters as he falls into a stall and leans his head against the door. “Fucking wishes that don’t come true.”

*

Summer passes too quickly, most of it spent training and adding bulk to his frame. Alex flies back to Washington feeling excited, ready to put the last season behind him. He knows Backy’s already in town because Sasha texted him two days ago like the busybody he is.

Alex fills his kitchen with food, making sure he has all of Backy’s favorites, then texts him to come over and say hi.

Backy turns up two hours later, his hair damp like he’s freshly showered and Alex grins. He’s showered too, ready to pick up where they’d left off last season.

“Hey,” he drawls, his English a little rusty after a summer at home. “Looking good, Backy.” And he does. He’s bigger, his shoulders a little broader, his body a little thicker.

Alex’s mouth goes dry.

Backy looks him up and down with a critical eye. “You’ve put on muscle,” he says finally, approving.

Alex wants to preen but he resists, reaching for Backy’s hips instead and drawing him in. “You wanna see?” he purrs slyly, laughing when Backy’s eyes go wide and he glances down at Alex’s mouth like can’t help himself.

“I’ll see in the locker room,” Backy says and he pulls back, out of Alex’s reach. Frowning, Alex tries to pull him back in but Backy stands his ground. “No, Alex. We can’t.”

The words echo around him and he steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to Backy anyway. Before he tries to change Backy’s mind. “Can’t?”

“We have to-” Backy breaks off and shakes his head. He’s holding himself rigid, keeping his eyes firmly on Alex’s face. “We can’t have - distractions. The Cup, right?”

Alex wants to laugh. Of course he wants the Cup. But he wants Backy too and he doesn’t understand why he has to choose. “The Cup,” he echoes and takes a deep breath.

“You understand?” Backy asks.

“Of course,” Alex smiles, his hands fisted in his pockets until his fingernails are too sharp against his palms. “I have food, you want?”

Backy looks unsure but he smiles and nods.

Alex fixes them lunch and they eat together at the table, like civilized teammates. He asks Backy what he did over the summer and regales him with tales of his own. Alex keeps his hands to himself. He doesn’t stare for too long at Backy, doesn’t mention last year or how the last time they were in this room together, they’d fucked on the floor.

If this is what Backy wants, then Alex is going to get the fuck over himself, because they’re teammates and lineys and if they fuck up their on ice chemistry, then any chance of the Cup is gone. They have to be fine, it’s non-negotiable.

*

When Alex turned 18, he wished for a soulmate. They’re not supposed to exist, as far as Alex knows, but he wished anyway.

When Alex was 22, he thought he’d found his soulmate.

At 23, Alex knew he’d been wrong.

*

**2017**

 

Alex heads home, another season finished too early, another series of questions about his ability to lead the team to a Stanley Cup that he can’t answer.

When he was young and stupid, he’d thought a Cup was inevitable. He thought it’d be easy. He’s 31 years old now and apparently his best years are behind him, or so people keep telling him.

He knows Zhenya will come to the house soon, maybe straight from Keppler. Dima too. They’ll bring their wives. Others will come, his house will be full, if not full of cheer. His house is never empty and yet Alex feels lonelier every year. He’ll smile and drink and try to raise everyone’s spirits, like he does every year. The roster changes but Alex doesn’t, still here in Washington, still without a Cup to his name.

Alex has his glory, of course. His name is on every trophy awarded in the NHL, except one. He’d wished for glory, like the dumb, callous child he’d been at 19 and signed his first contract, expecting to win everything because he thought it would be so easy. If he could go back and do it all over again, he’d make a different wish. He’d change everything if he had the chance.

He’s had three wishes since birth and every single one of them has been twisted so far from the original wish that two years ago, he came to the realization that Alexander Ovechkin is cursed.

Alex has heard the stories of wishes that became nightmares, a warped vision of a wish that destroyed the wisher. His mother read him the children’s stories before bedtime, his eyes wide as he listened to the warnings against wishing for too much or wishing for what cannot be.

He has no soulmate. He has glory, but his name isn’t on the one thing he covets the most, the one he would give everything else up for. His house is full, but he’s alone.

Alexander Mikhailovich Ovechkin is cursed, and everyone around him, everyone he’s connected to, bears the brunt of his suffering.

He’ll keep trying though. He’ll train through the summer harder than ever, and he’ll be back in the summer for the thirteenth time to try and change his team’s fortune.

 

***

 

“Nicke!”

Nicky turns to find himself engulfed in a huge bear hug. He pats Alex’s back when he’s wriggled free enough to move his arms, then pulls back when he realizes there’s less of Alex to hug than there usually is.

“You’ve dropped weight,” he says, keeping any tonation out of his voice. Nicky’s spent another summer trying to put the right kind of weight on, the kind that keeps him strong in the season, so he’s not inclined to judge Alex if he’s trying something different. “You look good.”

“Lean,” Alex says proudly, patting his belly. “You look good too, Nicke. Good summer?”

“Same as always,” he says with a shrug. He casts his eye over the ice in front of them. “Boys look good.”

Alex beams but Nicky knows him better now. They’ve lost so many players over the summer that it almost feels like a rebuild. It’s just the two of them now, and Beags, the last two standing in their failure as a team. The expectation that had grown around them over the past three years has crumbled.

When he steps onto the ice with Alex and his pass connects with Alex’s tape, it feels like he’s 19 again, in awe of the great Ovechkin, just hoping that he can keep up.

“Old man,” Alex yells across the ice when Nicky misses his return pass. “You forget how to skate?”

Nicky hears the muffled laughter behind him, shoots a glare over his shoulder at Willy and Carly. “Who you calling old?” he yells back and sends a saucer pass across the ice with perfect aim. Alex buries it in the open net and follows it up with a loud whoop.

“Experience,” he says as he skates towards Nicky and throws a careless arm over his shoulder. “We show this young rookies how to do it, yes?”

“Hey, I’m 23,” Willy protests.

“I’m 27 and I have a child,” Carly adds before he looks a little thoughtful. “Wait, does Burkie count? I have two children.”

“You babies,” Alex scoffs, making Nicky grin. “Nicke, tell them we old wise men who must be respected and revered.”

Nicky rolls his eyes and shoves Alex away. “You tell them, you’re the captain.”

“You the worst A,” Alex mutters and Nicky fights a smile.

He’s happy to be back. They might not have a Cup, but he’s happy to be back.

*

Trotz puts them on separate lines and Nicky grits his teeth and reminds himself that he’s a professional. It’s hardly the first time it’s happened and it probably won’t be the last, but still. Nicky puts his head down and works on getting the puck to Burkie instead of Alex.

On an intellectual level, he knows Trotz is doing the right thing. He and Alex together haven’t gotten the team past the second round of the playoffs so moving them around makes sense.

Emotionally, it feels all wrong. He wants Alex on his wing, yelling impatiently for the puck. He wants to be the one setting up Alex’s goals, putting the puck exactly where Alex wants it.

He wants a lot of things that he can’t have. He’s got experience.

*

November is a hard month. Nicky’s tired. Alex is tired. The whole team is tired and the season has barely begun. Both he and Alex are in scoring slumps, a bizarre symbiosis considering they’re not even on the ice together most of the time. The team is still producing so they’re not completely sunk yet but the season feels like it’s slipping away, all the same.

Nicky knows it’s all his fault. His parents wished for wisdom on the birth of their second son and it’s been both a blessing and a curse for he can’t avoid seeing what is directly in front of him. He made a wish when he turned 18 to always stay out of the limelight. He’d seen what was going on in Washington, the attention that Alex was garnering and he shied away from it. He wanted to play but he wanted to stay just out of sight, away from the harsh glare of the Washington media.

He’s cursed the team with his wish. If he’d chosen better, chosen a different wish, then maybe they’d have their names inscribed on the Cup. Instead, he’s had to watch year after year as other teams won while Alex looked on, devastated.

His guilt runs deep as the season wears on. He hadn’t given much thought to his wishes in the early years, convinced that the Cup would be theirs. Lately though it’s all he can think about. He can’t even bring himself to think about the wish he’d made when he was 19 and signed his contract. All he could think about was Alex, selfishly wanting him more than almost anything else in the world. He wanted Alex’s hockey. He wanted Alex.

He’d had Alex but that too had disappeared, sacrificed for the Cup they might never win.

Another Center might have fixed whatever was wrong with each team they’d played with. Maybe Nicky would have won a Cup if he’d been traded elsewhere, and Alex might have won in Washington, proudly hoisting the Cup and never having to read article after article about how he’s not enough.

But Nicky wished for Alex when he turned 18. Not for the Capitals, although he’s glad they both stayed here. He wished to stay with Alex always, to play with him wherever they were, whether in Washington or in Moscow. He wished for it and he thinks about how he should regret the wish.

And then he thinks about how, deep down, he doesn’t regret it at all, and maybe that’s his biggest regret.

Nicky’s cursed and he has no fucking regrets because he’s still got Alex.

*

They make the playoffs and Nicky tries hard to be excited, but he’s been here before. Alex is playing well, better than last year with his injuries, but it’s the same as every year. The same story. The same second round team. The same, always.

“We win this year,” Alex says to him over cards on the flight to Columbus. “This is our year.”

Nicky shakes his head and smiles helplessly. “You say that every year.”

“This year different,” Alex says, just like always. “This year, we win Cup.”

Nicky has nothing to say.

*

Miraculously, they beat Columbus. Then of course it’s Pittsburgh. Nicky fucking hates Pittsburgh.

“We win,” Alex assures him. “Crosby and Zhenya not win every year.”

“Feels like it,” Nicky grumbles, leaning on his stick and glaring at the stupid Pittsburgh ice. He hates Pittsburgh ice.

“We win,” Alex insists.

Nicky has nothing to say.

*

He leaves Game 5 with a fractured finger. He might smash his stick against the wall in frustration, but the trainer won’t say anything. He just winces and tapes Nicky’s fingers together. They both know he’s out for the rest of the series, at least, so this is probably the end of his playoffs.

One more nail in the coffin that is his career.

He watches on the monitor as the team wins and yet he’s been here before. He’s thought they could do it before.

He’s always been wrong.

*

The team wins Game 6 without him and they’re officially through to the Conference Finals. Nicky bounces on his toes, waiting for the team to come off the ice.

“I said!” Alex yells as he comes through the doors, his gaze zeroing on Nicky immediately. He’s sweaty and at least half a foot taller than Nicky with his skates on, but he catches Nicky in a hug anyway. “I said we win this year!”

“Two more,” Nicky reminds him, but he’s smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. “Still got two more to go.”

“Cup is ours,” Alex promises and Nicky can’t find it in himself to argue anymore.

*

He’s cleared for Game 4 against the Lightning and he’s almost vibrating as he joins the team for warm ups.

“You okay?” Alex asks, skating up behind him and putting his hands around Nicky’s waist, pushing into his space and all but whispering in his ear. Like anyone in the arena could hear them with how loud it is.

“I’m good,” he says, tilting his head just a little so he can see Alex’s grin.

“Finger okay?” Alex presses.

Nicky looks down at his hand, where his finger is swollen and bruised and wonders if he’s being more selfish than usual by playing. “It’ll hold up,” he says with a shrug.

They’ve both played through more injuries than they should have. Alex nods and lets him go and Nicky goes through the rest of his warm ups alone.

*

After their Game 7 win against Tampa Bay, Alex tugs him in for a hug, gentle by his standards. Neither of them are saying anything as the team mills around them, waiting for the trophy presentation.

“One more,” Nicky says finally when they pull back. Alex beams at him. “One more, baby.”

“One more,” Alex hoots in agreement, his hands gripping Nicky’s jersey. Beneath his beard, Alex looks young again, his eyes sparkling with hope and Nicky doesn’t want this to be it. He wants to win. He wants Alex to be this happy always. He wants to bang his stick on the boards when Alex is out there, reminding him to keep pushing, that Nicky’s right there with him.

Nicky thinks that, maybe, this year is different.

*

They win three in a row against Vegas, the first team to do it, and Alex is constantly in Nicky’s space. If they’re within three feet of each other, Alex is pulling him in, pressing up against him, whispering a constant stream of excited encouragement. Nicky laughs, ducks his head and lets Alex stay, his own hand on Alex’s back more often than not, his space next to Alex on the bench assured whenever one of them isn’t on the ice.

It feels like his rookie year all over again, when everything was Alex and Nicky didn’t know anything else.

“One more,” Alex murmurs in his ear. They’ve gone through all their pre-game rituals and Trotz has given their last team talk before they hit the ice. The team is starting to move out and Alex is pressed against him, as close as he can get when they’re in full game gear. His beard tickles against Nicky’s cheek, his breath warm as he leans in a little closer. “Nicke, one more, babes.”

Nicky laughs. Only Alex could distract him so easily before the biggest game of their careers. They’ve been waiting 11 years, 13 years for this moment and all Nicky wants to do is turn his head and bury his face in Alex’s shoulder.

But they have a game to win. They have to win.

“One more,” he agrees and stands up, waiting for Alex to join him. Then they walk out of the room together and join the boys as they wait for the announcement to hit the ice.

*

Nicky’s still fucking sore over missing the empty net even when there’s 0.6 seconds on the clock and they’ve all but won the game. If Vegas scores, Nicky thinks angrily as Alex wraps his arms around him, reaches for Stephenson too with his long reach. Nicky can’t take his eyes off the puck, he’s holding his breath and the clock runs out. He yells. Alex’s hands slip away from him and he’s up and over the boards, arms wide as he skates into the huddle forming around Holts. He hugs everyone. He yells some more. His pulse is racing and it doesn’t feel real, not until he’s standing in front of Alex, wrapping his arms around Alex, squeezing his eyes shut. The sounds in the arena are deafening but he can’t hear anything except Alex’s voice.

“We fucking finally did it, baby!”

Alex shakes them both and Nicky laughs. “Yes! Fucking right!”

Alex dips closer until Nicky can feel his breath ghosting over his skin and he shivers, his grin wide and care-fucking-free. “You’re the next one,” he says, voice low. A moment shared between the two of them, not for the prying eyes of the fans around them. Not even for the rest of the team. It’s just the two of them right here, in their own little bubble. “After me, I give it to you, baby. Stanley Cup, baby!”

“Okay,” Nicky says, his heart pounding. He feels like he’s going to burst open, right here on the ice, with Alex’s arms around him. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They go through the handshakes and line up, waiting for the Cup. Alex wins MVP and Nicky has to hide his laughter when Alex all but throws it away, desperate for the the real prize.

When Alex lifts the Stanley fucking Cup, Nicky swallows the lump in his throat, desperately trying to compose himself. It’s Alex who wears his heart on his sleeve, not Nicky.

Except then Alex is skating back towards them, towards him, and yelling his name.

Nicky laughs because what else can he do? Alex is always yelling for him. He’s spent 11 years yelling for Nicky.

They’re screaming at each other as they hold the Cup in transfer, both of them holding the Cup up high over their heads and Nicky thinks this might be the greatest moment of his entire life, right here with Alex.

“Fucking right!” he yells when Alex finally lets go, his hands dropping to Nicky’s hips instead. He gives Nicky a few pats and then Nicky skates with the Cup, Alex just behind him.

Of course Alex is. Where else would he be? They skate the Cup back to the team together, handing off to Brooks and then they’re lost in the team, watching as teammates lift the Cup in awe.

The night starts to pass in a blur. He’s pulled into interviews he doesn’t want to give, grinning helplessly as he watches his team around him. The locker room celebrations are a mess, he vaguely remembers doing some kind of embarrassing jig, dousing Alex with champagne as he lay on the floor and he definitely drank out of the Cup.

It all feels like a dream.

There’s dinner and crowds of people, a club where everyone’s eyes are on all of them. The babies are already drunk and doing weird things with their hips and arms that make Nicky laugh so hard that tears stream down his cheeks. And whenever Alex has the Cup, Nicky’s right there with him, lifting it up too.

Whatever tension Nicky’s been building up inside over the last 11 years, it feels like it’s been lifted from him. He feels lighter. Happier. It’s like he’s 19 all over again.

The night feels magical, like they can do anything, including lifting a decade-old curse or two. Alex never leaves his space, an arm around Nicky’s shoulders, a hand on Nicky’s hip, a shared look that steals Nicky’s breath all over again.

Nicky’s on his seventh, maybe eighth beer when he drapes himself over Alex. He’s talking to Carly, barely pauses to tilt his head a little to acknowledge Nicky. Alex’s arm slides around him, keeping him in place, like Nicky has anywhere else he’d rather be.

Alex is warm and strong, his thumb brushing idly across Nicky’s hip like he’s unaware he’s doing it. Nicky yawns, eyes half closed while he watches Tom and Burkie holding each other up.

“You tired, babes?” Alex murmurs and Nicky realizes belatedly that Carly’s left. “Old man.”

“You’re older,” Nicky says, yawning again.

“Come on,” Alex says, his arm around Nicky’s waist. He moves and Nicky follows, trying to keep his balance. It takes them a while to get through the crowd, longer to say goodnight to the guys, but finally they’re making their way up to their rooms.

“You left the Cup behind,” Nicky murmurs.

“Osh has it,” Alex says.

Nicky raises his eyebrows at that.

“And Carly is watching Osh,” Alex adds.

Nicky laughs just as the doors open and Alex pulls him gently into the hallway. They stumble together, and Nicky doesn’t think twice about Alex following him into his room. He can’t stop laughing as Alex tries to take his jeans off and he gives up on unbuttoning his own shirt, tumbling into bed half-dressed and happier than he’s ever been in his life.

“Goodnight, Alexander Ovechkin,” Nicky murmurs into his pillow. “Stanley Cup Champion.”

Alex’s low laugh behind him makes him shiver, then Alex is pressing up against his back, spooned around him. “Goodnight, Nicklas Backstrom, Stanley Cup Champion,” Alex whispers, his hand possessive on Nicky’s hip.

*

Nicky spends the next 24 hours glued to Alex’s side. Or maybe Alex is glued to his, he’s not entirely sure. They drink and party and Alex ends up in a fountain and Burkie ends up with the worst tattoo Nicky’s ever seen in his life and he seriously worries that the team babies aren’t going to survive the night.

Alex takes the Cup home, dragging Nicky with him. They sleep in Alex’s bed with the Cup between them and Nicky wakes up with the worst hangover of his life while Alex looks fresh as a fucking daisy after a long shower.

“You’re inhuman,” Nicky groans at him over breakfast.

Alex grins at him. “Gotta look good for Jimmy Fallon,” he says easily.

Nicky shoves his plate away and heads back upstairs to go to bed. He doesn’t move for the rest of the day; he’s still there when Alex comes back with the Cup and crawls into bed with him.

“Go back to sleep,” Alex murmurs when Nicky stirs. His hand ghosts up Nicky’s side and Nicky sighs and does as he’s told.

Nicky wakes up to fresh coffee on the nightstand and Alex singing in the shower. He downs the coffee greedily and finds another shower to climb into.

He walks back into Alex’s room with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair freshly washed and feeling like a whole new person.

Alex is beaming at him.

“What?” Nicky asks warily.

“You haven’t been here in a while,” he says, still beaming. Nicky looks around, confused. He’s almost certain that he’s never been in Alex’s bedroom, not since he moved. “The house,” Alex clarifies. “Less lonely with two in it.”

Nicky drags in a shaky breath. He’s not stupid, and he’s not drunk. “We’ve won the Cup now,” he says slowly.

“We waited so long,” Alex says.

Nicky lets his gaze roam over Alex in a way he hasn’t let himself since his rookie year. Alex is only dressed in a pair of black boxers, still reluctant to wear clothes if he doesn’t have to. “I wished for you,” Nicky says softly. When Alex freezes, Nicky exhales slowly. Revealing wishes is a big deal. Intimate. “When I turned 18. I wished to always play with you.”

“In Washington?” Alex asks slowly.

“If that’s where you were,” Nicky shrugs. “I just wanted you. I wanted you so much that I thought I’d cursed the team. I wished to be invisible and I thought that meant we’d never win the Cup.”

Alex glances across the room where the Cup stands, real and solid. “You wished for me,” he says, shaking his head. “I wished for too much, Nicke. I thought I was cursed. I wished for soulmate and for glory. I had glory. Too much. No glory for the team though. And no soulmate.”

“Soulmates don’t exist,” Nicky says, his voice cracking just a little.

“I think they do,” Alex says. He’s staring right at Nicky, his gaze not flickering. “I thought you were soulmate, when I was 22.”

“Alex,” Nicky shakes his head, his hand lifting between them before he lets it fall again. “Alex.”

“You think is a silly wish?”

Nicky swallows. “No.”

“I thought all my wishes were bad,” Alex says, his chest rising and falling as he breathes deeply. “I thought always be lonely. Never find soulmate. Never win Cup. Thought you didn’t want me.”

“I always wanted you,” Nicky says immediately.

“You said we were distraction though,” Alex says.

“We both wanted the Cup,” Nicky says. He remembers that day so clearly that his chest hurts all over again. “I didn’t want to distract you. I didn’t think it would take so long.”

Alex rubs a hand over his face. “I thought we win in first, maybe second year.”

“It’s been 10 years,” Nicky says, walking towards Alex. His legs feel all wobbly but he stops just in front of Alex and stands firm. “I’m sorry.”

“I think maybe you soulmate after all,” Alex says, his hand cupping Nicky’s cheek.

“You think?” Nicky murmurs with a smile.

“Hmm, not sure,” Alex teases. “Maybe Zhenya my soulmate. Or Burkie.”

Nicky bursts out laughing, his head falling forward to rest on Alex’s broad shoulder. “Yeah? Maybe you should go kiss Burkie and find out.”

“He not my type,” Alex decides. “Too young. Ugly tattoo.”

Nicky lets his hand drift down Alex’s chest, pausing at the waistband of his boxers. He hears Alex suck in a sharp breath and it fills his chest with warmth. “Ten years ago, you told me you’d wait until we won the Cup.” He lets his hand slip lower, taking Alex’s cock in his hand.

“Wait for what?” Alex asks, distracted as he kisses the curve of Nicky’s neck.

“For this,” Nicky murmurs and sinks to his knees.

Alex feels good in his mouth. He’s missed Alex swearing in Russian while he blows him.

“In club,” Alex says like it’s slowly coming back to him. “You not serious, Nicke. You wait ten years because of a stupid bet in a toilet?”

Nicky pulls back, his hand wrapped around Alex while he jerks him off in slow, deliberate moves. “No,” he says simply and swallows him back down.

*

His voice is rough when he talks to the media in the morning. He answers every question and shakes everyone’s hand and suddenly he doesn’t have to contractually talk to a single reporter until August. Maybe September if he really puts his mind to it.

He walks into the locker room where most of the guys are milling around. He winces as he sits down and catches Burkie’s wide gaze by accident.

“You,” Burkie says and then he’s pointing at Alex, who looks pretty damn smug. “Oh my god, they fucked over the Cup.”

The room goes silent and Nicky refuses to let himself blush. “Don’t be stupid,” he says, shoving a jersey into his bag. “We fucked in the bed. The Cup was on the nightstand.”

Burkie lets out a weird noise that might be disgust, or it could be awe. Nicky catches Alex staring at him, a dumb, happy look on his face and Nicky rolls his eyes.

Alex’s smile widens.

Nicky has no fucking regrets at all.


End file.
